Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Ted Kooser

Ted Kooser was born in Ames, Iowa, in 1939. He was educated at Iowa State University and the University of Nebraska. His books have won many awards, including the Society of Midland Authors Prize, the Pushcart Prize, the Stanley Kunitz Prize, the James Boatwright Prize, two Prairie Schooner Awards and the 2005 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry. He is the 13th Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress.



William Marr (Fei Ma)

诗人非马出版有十四本诗集 (除《秋窗 》是英文外,其它都是中文) 以及几本翻译,包括双语诗选《让盛宴开始──我喜爱的英文诗》。他还编选出版了几本台湾及中国现代诗选。他是前任伊利诺州诗人协会的会长,现居芝加哥。

William Marr (Fei Ma) is the author of fourteen books of poetry (all in his native Chinese language except Autumn Window which is in English) and several books of translations, including the bilingual anthology Let the Feast Begin—My Favorite English Poems.  He has also edited and published several anthologies of contemporary Taiwanese and Chinese poetry.  A longtime resident of Chicago, he served from 1993 to 1995 as the president of the Illinois State Poetry Society.

Flying at Night


Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water. Below us, some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death, snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn back into the little system of his care. All night, the cities, like shimmering novas, tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.


在我们之上,星星。我们之下,众星座。 五十亿哩外,一个星系死了 如一片雪花飘落水面。在我们下面, 某个农夫,为那遥远的死亡打了个寒战, 打开了他院子里的灯,把他的工棚与马房 统统拉进他管辖的小系统内。 整夜,那些城市,如微微发光的新星, 用明亮的街道同他的孤灯拔河。

Pocket Poem


if this comes creased and creased again and soiled as if I'd opened it a thousand times to see if what I'd written here was right, it's all because I looked for you too long to put it in your pocket. Midnight says the little gifts of loneliness come wrapped by nervous fingers. What I wanted this to say was that I want to be so close that when you find it, it is warm from me.


要是这诗变得皱巴巴脏兮兮 有如我曾把它打开过一千次 去看我在上面写的是否妥当, 那全是因为我找你找得太久了 想把它摆进你的口袋里。午夜说 紧张手指包扎的 寂寞小礼物。我要它说的是 我要那么接近 当你发现时,它还带着我的体温。

Walking to Work


Today, it's the obsidian ice on the sidewalk with its milk white bubbles popping under my shoes that pleases me, and upon it a lump of old snow with a trail like a comet, that somebody, probably falling in love, has kicked all the way to the corner.


今天,行人道上 带着乳白色气泡 在我鞋底下 劈拍作响的黑曜石 冰块,使我快活, 在它上面一堆旧雪 拖曳如一颗彗星, 可能是某个 坠入爱河的人, 把它一路踢到 这角落。

In the Corners of Fields


Something is calling to me from the corners of fields, where the leftover fence wire suns its loose coils, and stones thrown out of the furrow sleep in warm litters; where the gray faces of old No Hunting signs mutter into the wind, and dry horse tanks spout fountains of sunflowers; where a moth flutters in from the pasture, harried by sparrows, and alights on a post, so sure of its life that it peacefully opens its wings.


有东西在向我召唤 自原野的角落, 那里残存的铁丝网 在晒它松卷的太阳,从犁沟抛出的 石头,在暖和的垃圾堆里睡觉; 那块不准打猎的旧牌子 灰头鼠脸 在风中嘀咕, 干涸的马槽 涌起向日葵的喷泉; 一只飞蛾 被麻雀追逐 自牧场飞了过来, 停落在一根柱子上, 那么笃定地 舒展它的翅膀。

At Midnight


Somewhere in the night, a dog is barking, starlight like beads of dew along his tight chain. No one is there beyond the dark garden, nothing to bark at except, perhaps, the thoughts of some old man sending his memories out for a midnight walk, a rich cape woven of many loves swept recklessly about his shoulders. Note: English version of poems above was first published in Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985 (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2005)


深夜某处, 一只狗在吠叫, 星光在它绷紧的链条上 如一串露珠。 没有人在那里 在黑暗的花园外, 没有东西可吠叫的 除了,也许,某个老人 把他的记忆送出去 作午夜漫步的念头, 一件华丽的披肩 由众多的爱所织成 在他肩膀上 漫不经心地飘荡着。 注:以上诗作译自泰德-库舍的《夜间飞行: 诗 1965-1985》(匹兹堡大学出版社,2005)

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